It was One Hundred Sixty Eight straight hours of holiday company sequestered on a ridge top in the snow. Within the first 24 hours the hot water tank decides it has had enough lime deposits for a lifetime and takes a rest - after the dinner had been cooked and more dishes dirtied than you can shake a stick at. As hosts, we are trying to be accommodating. Political and religious differences require careful selection of both television programming and casual conversation, which is a stretch around here. Contrary to our normal practice of cooking on the fly, we are preparing full meals with all the whistles and bells, even salad and dessert. We try to make interesting small talk but our interests are quite different than the “city folk.” Then about 9 PM or so we say our goodnights, listen to our granddaughter say Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep with all the blesses, tuck her in bed and call it an evening. Now is the Golden Time. The few minutes that we have alone to talk about our day, make plans for tomorrow, joke, laugh or just open a good book and relax in comfort.
It was then I discovered that all my mother’s worst dreams had been realized . . . I have become a Bubbette, wife of a Bubba, grandma and mother to a pair of Bubbinis.
To be continued.